DX:HR - New Black Gold
by Shir0gane
Summary: Filling some time gaps of the game, general characterization and focus on the relationship between Jensen and Sarif. Rated M for language, gore and future sexual content. Pairing JensenxMalik. Inspired by and title courtesy of Miracle Of Sound - The New Black Gold. Characters copyright Eidos Montreal
1. Chapter 1

_2027, Detroit, Sarif Industries HQ, Micro-Chem Labs._

The fire alarms were still wailing, filling the entire facility with an unnerving demand for urgency. Flickering red warning lights flashed over scorched white walls. Heavy smoke still lingered in long corridors, while wrecked consoles coughed up electric sparks. Small fires remained, smoldering through plastic and metal, leaving an acrid stench in the air.

'Jesus Christ!' David Sarif gasped at the sight of utter destruction that had befallen his laboratories. It was much worse than he had dared to imagine.

Surrounded by a group of security guards, the CEO of Sarif Industries waited impatiently for the emergency personnel to clear the doorway to Subsection 6 from potentially dangerous debris.

'Pritchard,' he contacted his Chief of Cyber-security via Infolink, restlessly pacing back and forth while trying to replace the sensation of helplessness with something useful. 'Tell me you found something. Anything.'

'I'm sorry, boss,' the answer resounded right inside his head. 'Whatever happened down there, it fried the whole surveillance system. I can't even get a lock on the researchers' GPLs.'

David cursed in silence. At least five scientists had been inside the inner labs when the fire broke out, and not just any scientists. Not to mention Adam Jensen, Sarif's Chief of Security, who David had personally sent down here to check on the situation. All of them probably dead.

How could this have happened?

A moment later one of the men working at the door gave his OK to proceed, and David was one of the first to enter the sealed-off area.

'Be careful, sir,' a heavily armored guard tried to hold him back, but David gave a damn about safety right now. It was already too late for that.

'Don't worry about me,' he barked at the man, more aggravated than intended. 'Go, look for survivors!'

Anybody, just anybody, please, dear Lord...

Following the order, the emergency personnel swarmed out, searching, clearing and securing. It took no less than five minutes before the first report came in. They found a body, burned beyond recognition. Then a second one. And a third. All the same.

David gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. This must be a bad dream. Nothing but a bad dream…

'Holy shit!' one of the men suddenly exclaimed in utter surprise over the radio. 'He's breathing! He's still breathing! I found a survivor! He's alive!'

David immediately shook off the stiffening grasp of despair and, filled with a rekindling spark of hope, hurried towards the source of the communication, just to freeze again where he stood as soon as he laid eyes on the mutilated body buried beneath the rubble of a retaining wall.

'It's… Jensen, sir,' a security guard identified his superior, but David already saw.

'How can he still be alive?' another wondered, and David could hardly believe it himself.

There was blood everywhere. Thick shards of broken glass had cut practically every inch of the Chief's skin, most of them still piercing the flesh. Jensen's abdomen was slashed and his guts spread about the floor. The left arm was smashed to a pulp and, worst of all, the gaping bullet hole on the left side of his forehead permitted a shocking insight into pure nothingness.

Yet Jensen's eyes were wide open, blindly staring at his own personal void, and the bubbles of blood, regularly oozing out of a cut in his cheek and trickling into the black beard, proved him still alive indeed.

'Oh god, Adam!' David called out to his Chief of Security, pushed a shocked guard out of his way and went down on his knees beside Jensen, completely ignoring the gore soiling his expensive designer clothes.

'Come on, stay with me. Don't you dare give up now. I got you, son. Stay with me, please.'

Trembling, he reached out for the broken body, and when he caught sight of his own ornate cybernetic arm, he realized there was only one way to save this fading life. He knew Adam would abhor, probably even hate him, but there was no other option.

Snapping back to reality, David turned to face the stunned emergency personnel.

'Don't just stand there gawking, get him to a clinic, stat!'

The sharp command finally animated the helpers to new activity, calling in paramedics and clearing away the rubble.

David pitched in to assist, unable to just watch and do nothing.

Less than ten minutes later he found himself sitting next to Adam inside the VTOL that was carrying them to the closest LIMB facility, forehead resting on the knuckles of his folded hands, silently praying and urging the aircraft to go faster.

As it had turned out, Adam really was the only survivor. The collapsed retaining wall must have protected him from the fire; still, it was a miracle he had survived injuries this fatal. David wondered if that fact related to the Security Chief's genetic anomaly or was just a result of sheer strong-mindedness. Adam had proven his stubborn temper more than once, after all.

But no matter the reason, he was running out of time.

Just don't give in yet!

The short flight seemed to last an eternity, but as soon as the VTOL hit the landing pad and opened its hold, a group of LIMB medics scurried in to take care of Jensen and transport him inside the facility, David right on their heels.

In front of the operating room he met with Dr. Marcovic, who he had requested personally, knowing her to be one of the best in cybernetic prosthesis surgery. And right now, Adam needed the very best.

Dr. Marcovic gave the case sheet compiled by the paramedics earlier a quick survey, then examined Jensen directly while her team prepared him for processing.

'Penetrating head trauma, causing a severe hematoma; massive blood loss; severed limb; fractured ribs...' her East European accent was heavy, and her bright eyes were full of concern when she turned to face David. 'I'm not sure I can save this man's life, Mr. Sarif.'

But David didn't want to hear any of it and fixated her with a determined gaze.

'Do whatever it takes, Doc. Sarif Industries will provide the necessary hardware. But should he die, I'll hold you responsible.'

Marcovic raised an eyebrow in obvious disapproval.

'You are aware that the procedure causes serious distress to both body and mind. In his condition I can't...'

'His body can take it,' David interjected, knowing this for a fact. 'Just do your job, Doc. I'm not losing anyone else today.'

'Very well,' Marcovic frowned, but complied, studying the medical chart once more. 'There is a possibility I can preserve his right arm and...'

'No,' David cut in again, almost detesting himself for what he was about to say next. 'He's no use to me like this. You'll replace both limbs with cybernetics, and there are additional modifications I want you to perform.'

There was no question about it anymore, after everything that had happened these last few hours. The results of the research Dr. Megan Reed and her staff had died for today belonged to Adam Jensen, the man who had made this bio-technological breakthrough possible in the first place.

Dr. Marcovic didn't make any effort to hide her reluctance, but was in no position to object. She knew Sarif's company policy and corporate influence all too well.

So she just nodded her understanding, turned away to enter the operating room and left David behind alone.

'God, forgive me...' he whispered to himself after she was gone, facing the grave decision he had just made for another human being; a man more than an employee, more than what he considered a friend, a man only met once in a lifetime.

'Forgive me, son...'

The surgery went on for over ten hours until Adam was finally out of mortal danger.

David didn't leave the observation chamber for one moment, ignoring the damage control he should have taken care of, ignoring the blood drying on his clothes, ignoring the inflaming scratches left on his organic hand from clearing the debris off Jensen's body, ignoring the fatigue trying to overwhelm him.

All he could remember afterwards were the dreadful screams emanating from the OR; screams that could only originate from a fierce battle against death itself.

* * *

_2027, Detroit, LIMB clinic, Infirmary A_

There were screams echoing in his ears; far away, yet disturbingly present.

Who was screaming? Did something happen?

Right, something did happen, something terrible.

Adam remembered a sense of danger, gunshots, fire, a dear one in distress, shock, pain, struggle... and the deadly, abyssal muzzle of a .357 Magnum pointed at his head - his very own .357 Diamond Back.

Then, there was nothing but a bright light...

Adam forced his eyes to open.

Right, light... Too much and way too bright.

But he doubted hell was that luminous, and since there was no way he had gotten himself an invitation to heaven, that meant he was still alive? Where, the heck, was he then?

The light was still too dazzling though, causing him a piercing headache, so he closed his lids again to try and clear his view.

This was wrong. Something, no everything felt... just wrong, somehow out of place. And why did his eyes hurt so much?

Adam's next attempt to determine his whereabouts turned out to be more successful. There were forms slowly taking shape in front of his eyes, shadows contrasted with the lights he identified as frosted lamps above and around him.

Then the shapes intensified, solidified, until he was able to distinguish four familiar letters etched into the opaque surface of the lights; four letters that filled him with instant and bottomless terror: limb.

No. No! No, no, no, no, no...

Adam jerked up, just to get halfway overwhelmed by a consuming pain, denying him his next breath and flaring his vision.

But pain, breath and flares were forgotten the moment he caught sight and fixated on the black, metallic abomination that should have been his hand.

No...

This wasn't true... it couldn't... it mustn't...

Adam felt an icy grasp clench his heart, as he watched in horror the synthetic digits respond to his automatically given command, rolling into a fist.

No.

Dreading, yet unable to refrain, he broke away, looking left to see his fears indeed confirmed. The shiny black substitute of a human arm, copying its right counterpart, went all the way up to where his shoulder was supposed to be, holding a tight grip on his torso.

No!

Crippled, dismembered, corrupted, broken - and artificially rebuilt?

Adam felt panic slowly taking over. The blood froze inside his veins, his breath became shallow and frantic, his heartbeat rose to a fierce pounding inside his chest, his stomach roiled and his vision blurred, as a red veil fell over his eyes and rendered his mind blank.

Somewhere nearby an electric beep went off, signaling an emergency, but Adam hardly noticed anymore; just like the shapes suddenly approaching and the voices shouting. All that remained was a horrendous abyss suffocating any reasonable thought, while he found himself sucked into darkness.

Hands clutched for his body in an attempt to push him down, overpower and restrain him; and Adam reacted by instinct alone when he desperately rebelled to break free.

The shouts grew louder, accompanied by rattling noises; something heavy crashing to the ground; the ugly crack of a snapping bone; a shriek; a strange metallic clink, followed by the unmistakable smell of blood.

Then, Adam felt invaded by an alien weakness all of a sudden, rendering his limbs numb, quelling his frenzy and choking his rage.

He tried to revolt once more, but fatigue's tender embrace proved to be merciless.

Right before he fully lost awareness, he realized the screams that had penetrated his dreams before had been his own, bursting out from deep inside himself that very moment.

Adam's next awakening happened to be more peaceful.

Even though he remembered instantly as soon as his mind entered consciousness, he felt somewhat... distant, calm.

Maybe it was the drugs still working.

Maybe there was a way to adapt, after all. There was no other choice anyway, was there?

But for that to begin he had to face it first.

So he took a cautious breath, steeled his guts and slowly opened his eyes.

He found himself inside the same room he had woken up in the first time, lying in a clean bed and surrounded by orderly arranged medical equipment. None of it showed any traces of his violent outburst earlier; no scratches, no damage. Though he guessed, that didn't apply to the people who got hurt during the incident. He still remembered the sound of a snapping bone and the scent of blood, vividly.

Shoving the rising sense of guilt aside, he forced himself to focus on more immediate matters and finally dared to lift his right hand before his eyes.

There it was. Black, metallic, artificial... and horrifying. A travesty attached to his very core.

Adam felt his heartbeat increase again, his breath accelerate, his body tremble...

Calm down, damn it, concentrate, think!

The design was unfamiliar, he analyzed, rationally, though the fabrication clearly related to Sarif Industries. A prototype, then?

Adam wasn't sure he liked the idea; not that he liked any of it, at all.

But this prosthesis obviously was a weapon built for combat. He could feel the strength residing within the electro-active polymers, imitating, even surpassing, human muscle tissue; not to mention the hidden nanoceramic blade he somehow knew for a fact to be there.

He raised his left arm to compare and found both limbs to be identical up to his shoulders where they tightly enclosed his torso, fanning out in splayed clamps. In the space between he noticed metallic bolts penetrating the seemingly organic skin of his chest.

So there was something underneath? A cage to support the augmentation, most certainly.

What else did they replace?

Following that question an alarming thought surfaced, and Adam couldn't check his worries any more urgently, lifting the blanket and looking beneath.

His belly had been patched up and neatly bandaged, but everything below his waist seemed to have remained natural.

Well, that, at least, was a relief.

Adam gave in to a short sigh.

What else? There were multiple possibilities.

The next moment he registered for the first time the strange frames edging his perception, only noticeable from the corner of his eyes. Head-mountings?

Right, a protective shield, screening the eyes if required and displaying a HUD, downloadable right into his cerebral memory.

Why, the hell, did he knew all that? And how, the hell, could it feel alien and familiar at the same time? Like it had always been there; like he just never knew how to use it?

Confusion threatened to turn into panic, and Adam forced himself to calm down once more, taking one slow breath after another.

Head-mountings... most likely implicated retinal enhancements, as well. Which would explain his strange vision - more acute than he remembered and somewhat different - and why his eyes still hurt.

So, they took his eyesight, too...

Damn you, Sarif!

Lost in his loathing scorn, Adam startled the next moment when the door at the other side of the room suddenly hissed open and a man, carefully balancing a cup of steaming coffee, entered the infirmary.

David Sarif, however, was focussing all his attention on the brimming beverage, so he didn't notice Adam being conscious and watching, until he came a few steps closer, looked up and instantly twitched in surprise, stopping dead and spilling some hot coffee over his cybernetic hand, not even realizing.

'Adam!' he exclaimed. 'You are awake. I... Ahh, shit!'

Finally registering the dark brew dripping off his fingers and staining his classy waistcoat, David cursed away, put the cup down on a nearby table and shook off the remaining drops, while Adam just observed in silence.

'How are you feeling?' David asked eventually, composing himself, yet not without genuine concern in his words.

Adam couldn't help but feel sarcastic.

'Why don't you tell me, boss?'

Ignoring the hoarse sound of his own voice, he raised the augmented hand for David to see, closed it to a fist and activated the blade hidden inside the lower arm. The nanoceramic weapon sprang out with a metallic clink and remained bare, shiny and deadly, protruding from the joint.

Damn, it was as easy as clicking one's fingers. Maybe even more so, since Adam actually had no idea if it was easy or not to click one's fingers operating a cybernetic prosthesis.

As expected, David flinched back, barely noticeable, and stared at Adam's modified limb, before a sympathizing touch entered his eyes.

'Look, I know what you're thinking,' David began cautiously, 'but you were about to die...'

'And you think that gives you the right...' Adam growled back, no longer withholding his resentment.

'You know damn well I had the right!' David responded, now vehemently defending his actions. 'You signed a contract, Adam.'

Yeah, that he did, hoping the special agreement would never come into effect. Still, it wasn't enough of an answer to justify this kind of humiliation.

'Right,' Adam acknowledged, slowly cooling off and retracting the blade. 'And what's the other half of the truth?'

There always did exist at least one other.

David appeared to be aware of it too, considering his abrupt silence and reluctance to speak on. At that moment he seemed terribly tired all of a sudden, as if a heavy burden weighed him down.

He broke away, trying to fix his eyes somewhere on the floor, until they caught sight of his cybernetic arm and held on.

'You're right,' he finally said, 'I have no idea what it must be like for you. It's just...' He clenched his artificial fingers into a tight fist. 'I couldn't lose you, too, Adam. I already lost too much that day.'

That, at least, was an answer Adam could deal with.

But now he felt like the lowest of assholes himself. Up until now, he hadn't even thought about what happened to everyone else during the attack. What about...

'Megan?' he whispered her name with a sense of foreboding, and when he saw David gently shaking his head, validating the suspicion, Adam felt his stomach convulse.

Shit, he should have been able to protect her, save her! It was his job, his duty, for Christ's sake, the reason why Sarif employed him!

But he had failed and now Megan was dead.

'I'm sorry, Adam,' David shared his compassion. 'I know, Dr. Reed and you were...'

'That was quite a while ago,' Adam cut in, though he couldn't neglect he and Megan had been very close once and still used to hook up from time to time even after their relationship had ended.

'What happened back there?' he forced his thoughts to focus on something more tangible.

'I was hoping you could tell me,' David admitted, raising his eyes back at him. 'Aside from a fuzzy witness report and some blurred security footage Frank was able to extract from one of the intellicams we got nothing. The DPD is still investigating, but public opinion holds Purity First responsible.'

'They were no Purists,' Adam contradicted, knowing for sure. 'They were heavily enhanced. And professionals at that.'

David frowned, but remained silent, obviously processing this new information, while Adam looked down at his own augmentations, recalling the last few memories of the incident, burned into his mind.

Pain, blood and fire. Megan, being dragged away, reaching out for him, right before that bastard put Adam's own gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

He had been powerless, incapable to carry out his responsibility. Maybe... maybe now he could...

He despised the thought the very moment it entered his mind. He didn't choose this; he didn't ask for this! Yet, at least it might grant him the opportunity for some payback. After all, he was still alive, wasn't he?

'How much did you replace?' he followed that sentiment, glaring up at his employer. He just had to know.

David seemed to be caught off-guard by the sudden change of topic, hesitated and avoided Adam's gaze once more.

'You have to understand, Adam, you were critically injured...'

Damn it, he was doing it again, dodging straight answers!

'How much?' Adam insisted, growing angry.

'Over fifty percent,' David eventually yielded, and Adam could feel panic resurface and threaten to strangle him.

Over fifty percent? That meant he was more machine than man now?

'I got you the most advanced equipment Sarif has to offer,' David continued to explain, ignoring Adam having difficulties to follow his statement. 'Full limb prostheses, chest frame, spinal stabilizers, Sentinel Health System, rebreather, energy converter, cranial and retinal enhancements, SMART vision, CASIE, reflex booster, Rhino Dermal Armor, optical cloaking, even the Icarus and the Typhoon system.'

Adam hardly got half of it all. There was only one thing he truly began to understand. He had been turned into a weapon, built and owned by Sarif Industries.

'Apparently due to the heavy brain damage, the neural links weren't fully functional until you regained consciousness,' David kept on talking. 'That's why you had such a strong reaction the first time you woke up.'

"Strong reaction" was gently playing it down; in fact, Adam had been completely out of control.

'There were a few minor casualties, but don't worry, I'll have everyone well compensated.'

Right, all hail the corporate power! If you can't ease people's discomfort, just go ahead and buy it!

'Frank also assures me all of the software will kick in over time,' David still swaggered on, not noticing the seething rage he fueled with his choice of words. 'You'll be a hundred percent operational before long.'

Shut up. Shut up! Shut the fuck up, dammit!

Adam almost couldn't take it anymore. He felt like he was on the verge of doing something very stupid. And as a general rule, you just don't bite your owner's leg.

'I think you should go now,' Adam managed to squeeze through gritted teeth, only barely keeping his anger in check and cutting off David in mid-sentence, who gave him a worried look in return.

'Adam...'

'JUST LEAVE!'

The roar was strained and violent and finally convinced David to heed the implied warning.

He took a shaky breath, nodded his consent and was already turning away, but still hesitated, stopping short the next moment and shooting a last glimpse at Adam, about to voice whatever was on his mind.

Don't.

Don't you dare say you're sorry!

Just don't!

And David didn't; he simply broke off after a while and left the room without another word.

At least he had the decency not to lie.

Adam slowly leant back into the pillows, desperately trying to regain control over his trembling body, trying to fill the void that threatened to overtake his thoughts with something substantial. But there wasn't much left.

He realized, he had been wrong before. He had entered hell indeed.

* * *

As it turned out, Adam still had to undergo three additional surgeries, finishing the modification of his legs, before he could seriously try to get up and walk on his own, let alone start with any kind of rehab.

Within a short period of days, he was raring to escape the confinement to bed, not only because he urged for unrestricted mobility as it should have been a matter of course, he had a strong need for an adequate lavatory, too, since peeing in a pot every day wasn't exactly his idea of recuperation.

But when he finally found the strength to enter the small bathroom for the first time, shakily on weak legs, he wasn't in the least prepared for what was staring back at him from the mirror across.

The black nanoscale skin of his cybernetic arms immediately caught his attention, drawing him in, daring to take a closer look. And it was as bad as he had expected, mechanic surrogates taunting the marred remains of his humanity with artificial supremacy.

Very much unexpected, on the contrary, turned out to be his facial traits he had never had a chance to examine before; or rather what was left of it.

Black frames branched over unfamiliarly haggard cheekbones and brows, sticking out, impossible for anyone to miss. An ugly scar crossed the left eye and, right above, a hexagonal depression was embossed into his forehead, marking the cranial enhancement and, most likely, the entrance wound of the bullet that had crushed his skull.

The most shocking sight were his irises though, completely deprived of their former grey-blue color, now an unnaturally glinting yellow-green. He even could watch the retinal lenses counter-rotate with each other when he leant in to have a more immediate look, focusing on their fake image reflected by the mirror surface.

Adam's guts twisted as he stared into those eyes in aversion, not noticing his tight clutch on the sink until the ceramic gave in and burst under a marrow-chilling crack.

After that, he concentrated entirely on recovery and rehab, finding some resolution in physical activity and learning to handle the prosthetics. Gaining control over their functions worked out surprisingly well, though for quite a while Adam continued to have difficulties gauging the strength of his new limbs and broke several other pieces of equipment in the process.

Worst of all, however, proved to be the annoying psych evaluations when so-called specialists persistently probed and pried into his mind, trying to talk him into some mental trauma.

Adam kept his distance during these sessions, which probably didn't have a very positive impact on his discharge date. But he knew there was no use in having strangers poke around memories he'd rather leave behind, especially since he couldn't do a thing about it anyway.

He also kept quiet about his dreams, which didn't cease to haunt him, filled with screams, blood and fire, always dismissing him with a sensation of impotence and failure. Not much he was able to do about that, either, other than sticking to exhausting training and exercise whenever sleep used to torment him.

Despite all the time and effort he spent on getting acquainted with his new skills, he never managed to become fully adjusted to the lasting sensation of disembodiment that accompanied him since his first awakening; not even when he discovered he was still able to feel. Obviously the nanoscale epidermis grew capable to interpret touch and temperature, as well as degrees of pain, and relay the impressions to his brain. Still, it simply refused to feel like his own.

He did learn, on the other hand, that clicking his cybernetic fingers turned out to be very easy, in fact; only the originating noise didn't sound right at all to his ears.

Over three months he had to stay at the LIMB clinic, confined and virtually imprisoned; and when he finally got permission to leave, he noticed a certain unease about facing the outside world he should have been abundantly familiar with.


	2. Chapter 2

_2027, Detroit, LIMB clinic, Office Dr. Marcovic_

'Mr. Jensen, how often do I have to tell you it is very inappropriate to wear your glasses when talking to other people?'

'Why, Doc?' Adam felt defiant, even snappy, as it was the case more often than usual lately. 'What could you possibly hope to see in those eyes? My everlasting soul?'

Ever since Adam had managed to activate the protective shields, he found it much easier to stand his own reflection in a mirror, avoiding the sight of his artificial irises, covering them with golden-tinted lenses. Over time, he had simply grown accustomed to it.

'Mr. Jensen, please,' Dr. Marcovic insisted, frowning and causing Adam to feel uncomfortable, until he finally gave in and retracted the glasses into his skull.

Every single time, dammit!

'What'd you wanna talk about?' he reluctantly asked for the reason of his summoning.

Dr. Marcovic drew in a quick breath and returned to the papers in front of her.

'According to these analyses I see you fit for discharge,' she explained, failing to notice the strange unrest she induced Adam with her surprising disclosure.

He had to forcibly swallow the feeling down.

Hadn't he craved that day ever since he woke up the first time? Why did the thought of leaving make him so queasy all of a sudden?

Maybe because there wasn't much left waiting for him out there. Maybe because he resented the notion of entirely becoming Sarif's obliged watchdog. Maybe because he feared to face what he had been turned into.

Dr. Marcovic looked back up at him, obviously anticipating some kind of response.

'Great,' Adam brought himself to say. 'Then I can go now?'

'Not so fast, there are still a few formalities to discuss.'

Of course, the usual red tape.

'First of all,' Marcovic continued, 'your rehab isn't completed. Most of your neural links are still dormant, so I need you to come in for supervision on a daily basis.'

'Daily?' Adam echoed, disapproving.

'Yes, unless you'd like to stay.'

No argument about that.

'Alright,' Adam yielded, reservedly. 'What else?'

'Don't get me wrong,' she wasn't finished though, fixating him with stern eyes, 'I won't declare you fit for duty, yet. You are still on sick-leave. I just don't think we can do any more for you here.'

Still having no objections, Adam impatiently waited for her to go on.

'Then... there is this,' she finally did, reaching out for a nearby package and placing it right in front of his eyes, which Adam instantly identified as a dosage of Neuropozyne, causing his guts to clench once again.

Did the humiliation never end?

'You haven't shown the rejection markers yet, but I want you to take it with you in case you notice any symptoms. Mr. Sarif is going to provide all the supplies you may need.'

Sure, he was.

David, dammit... He hadn't shown himself or made contact since Adam had demanded him out of his room, weeks ago. And he couldn't even blame him for that.

Shoving his twisted scorn aside, Adam glared at the Nu-poz as if it was his sworn enemy, before he gave Marcovic a consenting nod. No way around becoming a drug addict, either.

'And lastly,' Marcovic concluded, 'Mr. Sarif appointed a new apartment to you.'

She passed him a pocket secretary, which he indifferently took, having a glance at the data it contained.

He recognized the place. Chiron Building, 420 Grand River Road. It had still been under construction, the last time he'd seen it.

He scrolled through the advertising images and information.

_For Better Luxury Living. Spacious Condominiums. Executive Apartments. Short-term or Long-term Leases._

_Chiron Building Services:_

_- Dedicated concierge_

_- Private doorman_

_- 24-hour valet service_

_- Secure private residence_

_- Housekeeper services_

_- Personnel chef services_

_- Spa services_

_- Fitness center_

...

Sarif really didn't spare any expenses to keep him on a tight leash.

Adam put the secretary down and looked back at Dr. Marcovic.

'Anything else?'

He grew increasingly tired of this.

'Just one more thing,' she added, her eyes slightly softening. 'Don't overexert yourself.'

* * *

_2027, Detroit, Chiron Building, Apartment 3434_

'Welcome home, Mr. Jensen.'

Disregarding the female computer voice greeting him, Adam dropped his bag where he stood, as the door closed behind him with a hiss and the shutters covering the windows across the room simultaneously opened, revealing a panoramic view over Detroit's luminescent skyline.

The apartment turned out to be gorgeous, to put it mildly, fully equipped with classy styled furniture, just according to David's taste. To the left, a passage led to an American kitchen, overlooking a spacious living area that was accessible through a short downward flight of stairs straight ahead, at its end another passage leading to the right, to the bed- and bathroom, most likely.

Other than that, the apartment was empty, Adam's personal belongings still packed and lined up within cardboard boxes along the living room wall.

Welcome home, indeed.

Adam gave in to a voiceless sigh, braced himself and stepped down the stairs. No point in procrastinating the inevitable.

But when he passed the cocktail table in front of the couch, his eyes caught sight of a single book lying there, bringing him to a halt. The title read: Living with Your New Cybernetic Prosthetic; All you need to know about treatments, recovery, and functionality; second edition.

This wasn't one of his.

Puzzled, he picked it up, opening the first page.

_I thought you might wanna catch up on your reading. David_

It even had his personal handwriting.

Adam frowned and suspiciously eyed the short note, then the cover again, before he put the book back and began to open the boxes one after another, unpacking, trying to make himself at home.

* * *

The first night he slept horribly, tossing about for hours; the second was even worse.

The third night he emerged from a dream where someone was calling him by name.

The moment he woke up, he knew it was Megan, her voice tender in his mind, longing, the way it used to be when she was lusting for him, not crying out for help.

What the hell...?

He assumed that damned picture he had stumbled upon earlier in one of the remaining boxes was to blame. A picture of both of them together, happy, some few years ago.

'Adam...' he could almost hear her hungrily sigh right into his ear and found himself defenseless against the vivid memories, involuntarily occurring; memories of her pleasant curves, soft skin, a scent of lilies, her short-breathed gasps when he used to satisfy both their carnal desires.

Fierce arousal concentrated in his loins, setting his whole body aflame, yearning for release.

Stop it!

He only barely mustered the strength to restrain himself, the impressions about to overwhelm all reason.

This was highly inappropriate. She was dead, for Christ's sake! Think of something else, dammit, anything!

The very next thought, responding to his desperate demand, stopped him cold and made him relive the remembrance of a deadly muzzle put to his head and a trigger getting pulled. His excitement died down immediately and left him behind with nothing but an empty, self-loathing rage.

Great, now he was in a really bad mood.

Physically and mentally exhausted, yet unwilling to seek any more sleep, Adam untangled himself from the blanket wrapped around his legs and got up, hardly stifling the pain still lingering in his groin.

The clock by his bed showed a quarter past three in the morning.

The hour of the wolf... Again.

Shit.

Adam turned away and headed straight for the living room and the last packed boxes he had decided to leave alone after he'd found Megan's picture before.

But, if they'd sent over all of his belongings, then somewhere... here... should be...

There, his emergency stash of whiskey and smokes.

He had refrained from approaching it up until now, but tonight he undoubtedly was in need of some oblivion.

Supplying himself with an ashtray and a glass filled with crushed ice he had already cared for in case of necessity, he settled himself on the couch to pour a lavish slug of golden liquor over the frozen cubes.

Raising the drink, he pulled short for a moment, right before the glass was about to touch his lips, breathing in the auspicious vapor of ethanol, then gulped the strong spirit down in one greedy swig.

Heat burned its way down his throat, inflamed his stomach and spread about the remnants of his organs, granting him the soothing experience of dying a little death.

But the sensation didn't last; Adam cleared up way too soon.

He poured a second glass, with the same result. A third one. A fourth.

Then it finally hit him.

Sentinel Health System.

His modified metabolism was compensating for the intoxication caused by the alcohol. And it was no different with smokes, he figured out shortly after, the inhaled nicotine immediately getting neutralized by his artificial lungs.

No! This just wasn't fair! Did that cursed body of his even have to deny him the satisfaction of sweet apathy? Wasn't he allowed to forget, just for a little while?

Refusing to abandon the attempt, Adam poured himself one drink after another and, as it turned out, if he kept the flow of alcohol going he was able to trick the metabolic rate into an almost sufficient delay.

It took him no less than two bottles of Gold Tooth to finally enter a state of adequate drunkenness, to render his dark thoughts unfocused and his body woozy; so he cherished this achievement by drinking even more.

He didn't notice the heavy impact on his system until he had to get up and take a leak, some time later.

Dull and on unsteady legs, yet somewhat at ease, he had to struggle for balance on his way over to the bathroom, just to abruptly run into bitter reality again the moment he caught sight of his impersonation in the mirror; eyes uncovered, simply forgotten after waking up.

Adam couldn't help but feel instant and irrational hatred boil up for that guy staring back at him; hatred for the yellow glinting eyes, the ugly scars and mountings, the black perversions of human arms.

A guy broken, not even half a man anymore, wearing his face, pretending.

Fuck you!

He didn't saw the blow coming until his fist cracked the glass and shattered his alter ego to pieces.

Empty reason annihilated Adam's rage the next second, as he became aware of the wreaked damage.

Crap!

Another piece of equipment destroyed. He really should stop doing that.

Numbly, he detached his knuckles from the point of impact, just to register there was no blood running down the shards, not even pain left to feel.

Fool...

At least he didn't have to put up with his reflection anymore.

* * *

The next day he was startled awake by a strange noise striking his head out of nowhere.

Puzzled, Adam opened his eyes and looked around to find himself uncomfortably slumped on his couch, yet alone, the sound gone.

What was wrong? Did he imagine...?

No, there it was again.

A white noise, resounding right inside his skull. It broke off several times, continued; then a voice became intelligible.

'... should do the trick. Test, test.'

Adam knew that snarky tune very well.

'Pritchard? Is that you?'

'Who else do you think it might be? Leonardo da Vinci paying his respect?' the voice responded, sneering. 'You haven't been that dead.'

Right, screw you too, Francis!

Adam took a calming breath and generously let this single suckerpunch slide.

'What are you doing in my head?'

'Calibrating the connection to your Infolink, obviously.'

The "moron" at the end of the statement was silent, yet discernible, trying Adam's patience once more.

'Could you at least give me a warning, next time?'

'What, Jensen, you want an official announcement? Or did I, perchance, happen to interrupt some private joytime of yours?'

Pritchard indeed never failed to seize an opportunity to place a cheap shot.

Adam barely suppressed the growl looming inside his throat by now.

'I was asleep.'

'At this hour? It's almost noon, you know?'

Yeah, Adam was very well aware. Not nearly late enough.

'Was there anything else you wanted?'

'No.'

So, just bitching, then?

'Good. Now piss off and stay out of my head, Francis!'

To his relief, Adam quickly found a way to sever the connection before Sarif's Chief of Cyber-security could add another of his snide comments.

Asshole!

Scarcely composing himself, Adam sat up and rubbed his temples to banish the lagging sense of annoyance from his head. Then he took a second look at the remains of his late-night bender.

Three empty bottles of whisky, the ashtray brimming; and he didn't even have a hangover.

Great, what's the point of getting wasted, if you can't feel miserable afterwards?

Stifling a sigh, he leant back into the couch, musing what to do with himself now that he was awake. His daily appointment at the LIMB clinic wasn't due until afternoon and up to this point he had spent most of his time unpacking. But after that disturbing dream last night he didn't feel like it anymore.

He needed another distraction, soon.

Then he remembered the Chiron Building also offered spa and fitness services, perfect to keep body and mind in shape, as well as occupied.

So Adam rose as if he had a purpose, skipped breakfast, sensing it would only make his stomach churn, and stepped into the bath to freshen up. There, he found himself confronted with the smashed mirror again, reflecting only fragmented pieces of his self.

Stupid, stupid action.

He'd better arrange a replacement.

On his way down to the fitness center located in the basement, he stopped by the lobby to inform the concierge of his request.

The woman behind the counter ogled him in bold astonishment and shot leery, ill-concealed glimpses at Adam's augmented hands.

'But, Mr. Jensen, you moved in only a few days ago. What could possibly have happened?'

'It broke,' Adam simply dismissed her pretext query, unwilling to partake in that kind of dance, then left her behind, heading for some physical diversion.

As it turned out, the fitness center also provided a small doujo section where Adam battered the training dummy until late dusk, only interrupted by his visit to the LIMB clinic and, seizing the opportunity, restocking his supplies of booze.

* * *

In the evening, after the fitness center had closed, Adam found himself again sitting in his living room, staring into space and brooding how to enter sleep without giving in to drinking himself senseless.

Distraction...

A moment later he realized the single book still lying on the cocktail table, buried beneath some of his personal stuff he hadn't found a place to store, yet.

"Living with Your New Cybernetic Prosthetic", eh?

Reservedly, he reached for it to eye the cover once more.

There wasn't much to it. The plain title, tagline, edition and authors' reference, and a medieval-appearing drawing of a cybernetic shoulder attached to a human body.

More conflicting, on the other hand, was the handwritten note on the first page.

_I thought you might wanna catch up on your reading. David_

At odds, Adam stared at the letters, and it took him a while until he finally discovered the inconsistency buried within the writing itself.

At the end of the sentence, right above David had put his signature, the words seemed to be unfinished, a comma altered into a period. Like he had meant to write more; like there was something missing.

Adam's guts knotted.

Damn you... David!

He turned the next page and began reading.

He didn't brave the night without sweet, alcohol-induced oblivion, though. He didn't even remember half of what he had read.

He did remember, however, the passage about the origins of simple mechanics, a water clock built by the Muslim inventor Al-Jazari in 1206. And he did remember his associated thoughts about getting more acquainted with his prosthetics and improving their fine motor skills at that.

So he began to order bits and pieces to build his own clock the next day, finding some abstraction in the self-imposed task for a while.

* * *

'At Sarif Industries, a better tomorrow is our passion.'

Adam jerked awake from a disturbing dream he couldn't recall by the next moment. It didn't even matter; most certainly, the usual horrors.

The living room was doused in flickering blue light, solely radiating from the still-running TV, while on screen a Sarif commercial portrayed a cybernetic hand reaching out in a Michelangelo-like fashion, having a butterfly gently landing on the tip of its index finger.

Better tomorrow, my ass!

Adam sat up, wiping the sweat off his forehead and burying his own artificial digits in his hair for a moment.

For over two months now he had been trying to make himself at home in his new apartment; for two months he had been trying to cope with all the changes on his own; two months in which he visited that damned LIMB clinic daily to get his credentials. And he still wasn't able to accept his altered condition, after all.

In the first couple of weeks lots of get well wishes from concerned co-workers and subordinates had arrived, offering condolences and comfort, many of female origin; but ignoring every single one of them, Adam felt there wasn't any comfort for him in store, so he had stayed in solitude, and the notifications had stopped, eventually.

At some point, he couldn't remember when, he had also smashed the renewed mirror in the bathroom a second time, piss drunk again, and was still waiting for another replacement.

Even the clock-making he had built some of his hopes on turned out to be only partly helpful, the unfinished components remaining scattered in pieces all over the workbench.

Truly, fucked up beyond any recognition.

On screen the picture swapped, now displaying Eliza Cassan reporting on economic trends and stock market values, which Adam indifferently absorbed.

'Meanwhile, the augmentation industry is booming, and companies are experiencing an all time high, with Tai Yong Medical stocks in particular going through the roof. Sarif Industries, on the other hand, has yet to recover from the severe blow dealt by an attack on their facilities earlier this year.'

This particular news did catch Adam's attention, and he took it with a growing sense of unease.

Despite the ever present awareness that he hadn't been able to prevent the incident, he wouldn't have assumed Sarif being in any financial troubles. Was this for real or did the media just hype a mediocre fact to create a greater sensation, as they tend to do? In the end, it was Sarif they were talking about; one of the very pioneers in cybernetic enhancements.

Nevertheless, Adam couldn't shake off his rising concerns for some reason and finally decided to bite the bullet and get to the bottom of this.

So, he activated the Infolink and traced back the frequency Pritchard had once used to make contact.

'Pritchard, are you there?'

'Yes, I am here,' came the dismissive answer, promptly. 'Do you have any idea what time it is?'

Adam skipped the anticipated reproach.

You are still awake as well, dipshit.

'Sarif's financials. Is it as bad as they say?'

A brief, hesitant pause; caused by surprise?

'As who says?' The inquiry was precautious.

'It's all over the news,' Adam shared his observation, not realizing he had given Pritchard an involuntary opening.

'So, you enjoy yourself leisurely watching TV all night while other people work their asses off...'

'The financials, Francis,' Adam reminded him, ceding, yet growing impatient.

'What makes you think I would know? In case you didn't notice, I'm everything but an accountant.'

'Yes, but you are running numbers, Francis. Don't tell me you have no idea which way the numbers flow.'

Another moment of silence, longer this time.

'It doesn't look good, I can tell you this much,' Pritchard finally caved in. 'The attack five months ago had cost us millions. Redevelopment will cost us even more. Taggart and his Humanity Front freaks subtly turn the tables against us, and your reconstruction wasn't exactly an act of charity, either.'

Adam felt his stomach drop. He had feared about that, but didn't dare to take it seriously.

Shit, Sarif's leash really didn't cease to tighten its grip.

'Thanks,' he forced himself to acknowledge and severed the connection.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit.

He coiled over, contrite, burying his head in his hands once more.

The everlasting thought of owing Sarif had consistently threatened to drive him mad over these past weeks; especially since he wasn't able to make any kind of a difference, confined to sick-leave and in incessant doubt that he was even up for the task.

Shit.

A searching glimpse over the cocktail table confirmed his very next worry. The booze was gone. Again.

Great! Now he had to go restock his supplies.

Load of shit.

* * *

The chill, early-autumn night was clearing his troubled spirit a little, as Adam walked down to the nearest 24-hour convenience store, located at a corner of Grand River Road right where it turned towards the police station.

Humid air and a cool wind already heralded in the end of the year and caused Adam to wrap his coat closer.

Four purchased bottles of whiskey, along with three packs of Royal Hellhounds later he passed by the entry to Earl's Court, one of the derelict neighborhoods, where he was brought to a sudden halt by a provoking voice in his back.

'Hey hanzer, al'lone'n the streets this late, a'ya?'

The slurred accent was of obvious Latino origin, male and unmistakeably drunk.

Adam cursed himself, emerging from his brooding thoughts, and took a quick, alert look around. He was all alone on the street, indeed; and he had paid no attention.

Damn, stupid rookie mistake!

The next thing he heard was the slide of a gun being racked.

An automatic, he realized; though, he couldn't make out a model from sound alone.

This night was just getting better and better...

'Y'must be well loaded, c'nsidering yur fine gear. H'nd over th'valuables, all o'them.'

Adam struggled to keep his cool, cautiously splaying both arms to pose no immediate threat, while he tried to give the guy a single, fair warning.

'Trust me, you really don't wanna do this, cholo.'

'Shuddit 'nd gimme ya money, fuckin' cog!'

Adam couldn't help but feel his rage resurfacing, smoldering up from within a deep, barely constricted well.

He never did ask for this, dammit!

Slowly, agitatedly, he turned, arms still raised by his sides, to examine his opponent.

The latino-african hobo really was more drunk than practiced; all by himself, unsteady on his legs, gun pointed at Adam only two paces away. One single step and Adam could easily disarm him.

And so he did.

Seizing the moment of surprise, Adam dropped the bag where he stood, went in, grabbed for the hand holding the gun and twisted it behind the other's back, spinning him around while placing a tight grip around the guy's throat. All in about one move.

The shithead virtually petrified in his arms, suddenly becoming aware of the situation having turned against him.

Adam, on the other hand, only felt cold resolve.

How easy it would be to just snap this fragile, little neck. One precise shift with his fingers to dislocate the atlas vertebra and sever the nerve roots, instantly dropping him dead. Nobody would even miss this low-life; in fact, he might as well do him a favor by doing so, releasing him from his wretchedness.

Tempted by the very possibility, Adam remained, pondering, but in the end began to notice the all-too-human tremble beneath his fingertips, a jitter born out of fear for life itself, while his captive desperately tried to gasp for air.

Adam was painfully familiar with this sensation.

So, just another victim of society, left behind by evolution and pushed to their limits.

Fuck!

'Get out of my sight, jackass,' he growled into the hobo's ear and let go of his grip a moment later, shoving the other forward, though keeping a hold of the gun.

The Latino stumbled a few steps ahead, coughing and panting, and when he realized he was free to go, shot a single terryfied look behind and instantly took to his heels.

At strife, Adam watched him bolt, disturbingly reminded of something he had once sworn to himself; an oath he took and lived for, for a long time.

An oath to serve and protect. The very reason why he had joined the police force, years ago.

To serve and protect the many who had just gotten unlucky, the ones overlooked and forgotten by the system, the ones nobody cared for; people still dominating Detroit's streets. An oath that had eventually become Adam's reason to exist.

His sole mistake had been to accept the promotion to SWAT.

At first he had enjoyed the rush, ranking up to commander of his squad and, through that, feeling somewhat elite for a while; but as it turned out "to serve and protect" became "to serve and protect political and corporate interests", always assisting the mighty and influential, first and foremost.

Everything finally went down the drain when Adam was given the command to exterminate that augmented kid, classified a threat, back in Mexicantown.

He had refused to carry out the order and quit the force, consequently.

Of course, he had been turned into a public scapegoat in the aftermath. Someone's head had to be put on the block for the masses, and he had been the one committing insubordination, after all, obviously to blame.

But, it was just a fifteen year old kid, goddammit!

Adam took a deep breath to calm down and settled himself on a nearby brick wall, reaching for the dropped bag and fishing out a bottle of the, thankfully undamaged, Gold Tooth, which he greedily emptied by a third before even noticing.

He had been devastated for months after the Mexicantown incident, feeling his entire creed crumble, until Megan eventually came forward, telling him Sarif Industries was reorganizing their safety measures and looking for a capable Manager of Security.

Initially, Adam had been reluctant to work corporate, but of course, he knew about Sarif and of what he was accomplishing for Detroit and beyond.

Ascended from out of nothing himself, yet a dedicated protégé of Hugh Darrow, the very father of cybernetics, David Sarif had decided to revive a city's dying economy with a new branch of industry, twenty years ago. The change was progressing slowly, subtly, still causing much discontent among the population; but operating at the core of misery for about ten years, Adam could tell the difference taking effect.

So he had agreed to an interview, and when he met with David in person, had to acknowledge him as one of a kind, indeed.

True, David was corporate from tip to toe, being forced to fight his way up to the top by any means necessary. But he was also bold, witty and, most importantly, genuine. He wasn't afraid to speak his mind, probably not even able to do differently; and he didn't seem to care about what the media was gossiping about Adam's dishonorable discharge from law enforcement. He had just looked into his eyes and made a decision.

Adam instantly felt a strange connection to this man, convinced that both of them shared a mutual vision of making this world a somewhat better place, each at their own odds, as pretentious as it may be.

Insanely, he took the job without any more hesitation, even realizing there was an enticing upside to the task. By being corporate, David wasn't strictly bound to public regulations; he had the power to make his own goddamn rules. Which actually was to Adam's convenience as long as both their rules coincided.

So, what had changed these past few months?

Nothing, in fact.

Did he feel betrayed by David to uphold his contract and, by doing so, turn Adam into an artificial monster and proprietary tool?

Yes. But it didn't change the truth that Sarif had saved his life.

Did he fail to carry out his duty during the attack and let Megan die?

Yes. But it didn't change the truth that Adam was still breathing and in the position to make some kind of a difference.

The oath remained, unaltered.

To serve and protect.

If that meant becoming a watchdog on behalf of Sarif or whoever else was to execute Adam's ideals, so be it. And Adam still had no doubt about Sarif's motives, David's vision.

In the end, all of his fucked-up self-loathing over the past months dissolved into nothing but simple vanity.

What, the hell, did he have to lose anymore? Save Sarif.

To serve and protect; no matter the means necessary.

Brooding, he looked down at the gun in his hand.

He identified it as a Walther P22, similar to his first service weapon, when he had started fresh out of police academy, becoming an officer.

Adam hadn't held a gun since his own Magnum had been turned against him. The thought alone had caused him nausea. But there was something soothing about this nostalgic sensation in his hand, reminding him of his origins.

Adam gave in to a sigh, emptied the bottle by another third and, then, adeptly disassembled the gun into its components, disposing the pieces into a nearby garbage can, and finally headed home.

* * *

Back at his apartment, Adam dared to take out his carefully shelved sidearms for the first time since the attack.

Still being somewhat hesitant, though, he carried both of the wooden cases into the living room, settled on his couch and poured himself a drink first, before he felt poised to open the first of the boxes.

It contained his spare .357 Magnum Diamond Back, the very model that had been used to leave him for dead, making him relive the memory and causing his guts to clench, as expected.

Inside the other box he had stored away the 10mm Zenith semi-automatic, his first service weapon. Compared to the Diamond Back its sight turned out to be much more tolerable.

Adam picked up the Zenith and checked magazine well and chamber for potentially remaining live rounds, before he pointed the gun someplace across the dark room, supporting his shooting hand with the other.

Handling and weight felt familiar, even welcome at some level.

He pulled the trigger and listened to the hammer coming down, inducing just a short, metallic click.

What, the hell, had been so stylish about a Magnum, anyway? Automatics were much more efficient. Fire rate, reload rate, ammo capacity.

Vanity truly was a bitch!

Adam lowered the weapon to have another examining look at it, locking back the slide, opening the chamber. Of course, some upgrades and modifications had to be done. The Zenith was practically virgin, carried for just about two rookie years of police service until Megan had given him the Magnum for his twenty-fourth birthday.

Adam was also well aware that he needed practice, being unarmed for over five months, equipped with new, artificial limbs and out of training in handling automatics, at that. Luckily, he was still able to call in an old favor that gained him access to the DPD's shooting range.

Pondering, he reached for his drink, gun still in the other hand, and leant back into the couch.

He really was going to do this.

The next day he added several hours of target practice to his routine; shooting range in the morning, LIMB clinic and doujo until evening.

It didn't stop him from drinking, though, nor did it stop the recurring nightmares; but it still gave him a sense of resolution.

* * *

Two weeks later, Adam's Infolink suddenly went off, interrupting his afternoon exercises.

It was David; and he sounded gravely agitated.

'Adam, I need you to come in, about now. We're having a serious situation at Milwaukee Junction.'

Adam didn't even ask; he was already heading for the elevator.

'Copy that. I'm on my way, boss.'


End file.
